


Milk & Honey

by MooseFeels



Series: Revelation [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Castiel, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Hospitals, Injury, Omega Dean, Past Drug Addiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-11-21
Packaged: 2018-04-29 03:19:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 7,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5114081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MooseFeels/pseuds/MooseFeels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's November, autumn in full swing. Dean misses a phone call. Castiel encounters his past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Dean’s standing in the kitchen, reading over a recipe for an apple pie, when the phone rings.

He looks over at it, this loud object, before he goes back to reading the recipe. It’s a more complicated variation than he was counting on, and he wasn’t planning on spending quite so much time on the crust, but if it comes a little late, he’s okay with that. Castiel’s never on time anyway and if they eat it warm, that’ll be good too.

The phone ends its ringing, and the house is quiet again, until the house begins ringing again immediately.

Dean looks over at it, again, and then turns back to the recipe.

He doesn’t have his voice today, and just answering to not be able to say anything wouldn’t be any good.

The phone stops ringing and then just rings again.

And it does this for twenty minutes, driving his voice deeper and deeper into his throat until he can’t stand it anymore and he walks out of the house, leaving a note.

Panicking, he writes. Went to town.

He steps out into the woods and feels the gravel crunching under his feet until it transfers into the dirt of the trail proper. Ther air is cool but damp; it rained this morning, typical November, and it feels wet and good on Dean’s skin. It’s not unlike sweating but it doesn’t make him feel unclean the way sweating does. He lets the feeling of moving swallow him up, pulling his brain away from that anxiety he had, pulling his voice closer and closer into his mouth.

He’s been working and working with the kids in the studio and he’s adored it. They’re beginning to get the hang of monkey’s fists; they finally got the hang of some of the utility knots and they’ve helped mark off some of the trails already. He’s shown them some of the larger works he’s made and they seem to like it, the big fields of color. He’s talked to them a little bit about the process of design, or making the knots form large, new images.

They like touching them too, and they’re not afraid to touch them, unlike older viewers.

They’re made to be touched, to be handled, not just seen. They’re meant to be manipulated. They’re not fragile. The kids seem to get this. They get it.

Dean loves them, so clever and beautiful.

The walk into town, downhill and well maintained, happens quickly and easily. He lopes out of the woods and onto a sidewalk, and he’s walking toward the diner when he runs into Charlie, who looks pale and nervous.

“Dean!” She exclaims. She wipes her face, a smattering of tears over her cheeks. “Gabriel told me a little of what was going on- how are you? Are you okay?”  
Dean looks at her, curious.

He pulls his notebook out of his pocket and draws a question mark on it.

Charlie looks at it and then back at Dean and she says in a soft, sad voice, “There was an accident- he got hurt. He’s in the hospital. They called you, Anna went up to call you because-”

Dean feels the world spin around him, a white terror like he’s been struck by lightning. He feels an agony and a disappearing of sensation through himself.

“What?” He asks, his voice suddenly very small.

“Dean!” He hears someone call, and he turns, and there’s Gabriel, holding his keys and tugging on a jacket. “Get in the car!”

Dean jogs over to him, slides into the front seat.

“Did Anna get a hold of you?” He asks. “Probably not- Cassie got in an accident, real bad. He’s in the hospital, in the city and we need to go see him. He’s probably going into surgery now.”

Dean’s hands are shaking badly and his voice is gone, he has to know more and he’s- god, it, he has to know. He has to know.

Gabriel swallows. “Benny said that there were some hunters, in the wood. They were registered and paid dues but they didn’t know that Castiel would be out there and-” he pauses for a long moment. “They said it was in the chest. The hunters had some good first aid training though and tried to help him until the helicopter got there and- and now we have to wait.”

Dean feels a kind of shaking, burning, screaming. He hasn’t felt like this in ages, in years. He hasn’t felt like this since- since the mark.

Castiel’s hurt. Castiel’s hurt. Cas is hurt. His Cas is hurt.

Dean feels his whole heart burning, aching.

He feels like he’s dying. He feels like the world is ending.

It’s a few hours to the city. Gabriel drives like a man possessed. It’s silent, the whole way there.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

It’s a blur.

It’s like the world, all at once, is still like a painting and not moving at all.

Dean can’t really feel his legs, his arms, his hands, his feet. He can’t feel anything physically and he can’t speak at all. He can’t- he’s just drifting.

Gabriel pulls him from the car and across the parking garage and into the hospital, from the reception desk to a different floor and to a hard plastic seat, where Dean sits.

And waits.

He closes his eyes and he waits.

Grits his teeth. Tries to block out the smell of hospital disinfectant. Tries to not feel the slow drag of time across his skin. He feels- god, he feels terrible.

When they woke up this morning, Castiel got up before Dean. He went downstairs to brew coffee and eat some yogurt before he hit the trail. Dean headed down a few minutes after and kissed him on the cheek and Castiel slid into his sturdy trail boots. And then he walked out the door and into the woods.

Dean was going to make a pork roast for dinner, with cranberries and his own rolls. He was going to make a pie. He was going to spend the day around the house, cleaning up and cooking. He was going to have Castiel call Gabriel and Anna and Esther over for dinner and maybe they would spend the night.

It’s barely November. He’d just taken the Halloween decorations down last night.

He’s got to be okay. Cas has to be okay. Castiel has to be okay. He has to be okay.

“Dean,” he hears. “Kiddo, the doctor’s here, they have information about Cas.”

The doctor is a tall woman with black hair and dark skin. Her nametag says Dr. Robinson and she’s holding a clipboard, wearing scrubs.

“You’re with Castiel Novak, yes?” She says.

Dean nods, weakly.

“It could have been a lot worse,” She says. “The guys who were with him, they actually had a cert in wilderness first aid and they knew how to keep him together until the helicopter came in. He’s been in surgery, to get the bullets and debris out. He’s got broken ribs, of course but it missed his heart and any major arteries. Bled like a sonofabitch, but it looks like he’s going to pull through.”

“When can we see him?” Gabriel asks.

“He’s resting now in a private room,” she says, flipping a few pages. “He’s still under and he’s going to be under for a few hours still.”

“Where?” Dean asks, his voice crackling and breaking around the question.

“I’m not sure but the nurses at the desk would know,” she answers.

“Thank you,”Gabriel answers, and Dean nods.

And Gabriel tugs him from chairs to the desk and to the room.

Where Castiel lays in a big bed, hooked up to a dozen tubes and wires, his chest covered in an enormous bandage, overwhelmed by blanketing and pillows and machinery.

He doesn’t look like he’s sleeping. Not really. It looks like he’s exhausted, like he’s passed out. He doesn’t look peaceful, he does in the mornings or at night. He doesn’t look like Castiel. He looks terrible. He looks awful.

Dean pulls a chair over to the bed and he sits down. He finds one of Castiel’s hands in that sea of white bedding and threads his fingers between Castiel’s.

And he waits.


	3. Chapter 3

Castiel feels terrible.

He doesn’t really have coherent memory of a before or a now, but all he knows is that he feels wretched. He feels sweaty and nervous and _heavy_? He feels heavy. He feels like how he did-

He turns, or he tries to, but everything hurts, electrically. Like he’s been shocked or like someone has something inside of him and they’re twisting it.

It hurts so viscerally, so totally.

“Angel?” he hears. “Cas- are you awake?”

And Dean, beautiful, beautiful Dean pops into his vision suddenly, and he looks so tired. His face is pale and wan and his eyes looks terribly tired.

“You got hurt,” he says, his voice cracking. “There was an accident but the d-d-doc-” His voice stutters and cracks a bit, peters off. He closes his eyes and grits his teeth. Castiel feels something, or he realizes feeling something. Dean’s hand, clutching his.

“The doctor said you should be okay but you’re still really hurt,” he continues, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Castiel is furiously, terribly thirsty, but he manages so say, hoarsely even to his own ears, “I’m fine baby. I’m fine.”

“Are you hurting?” He asks, voice soft, scared. “You’ve been asleep for a while.”

Castiel is on fire, but he shakes his head. “I’m fine,” he answers. “Thirsty.”

Dean nods. “Let me talk to the nurse,” he whispers. He leans forward and kisses Dean’s forehead, his lips there for a long, soft second.

He leaves the room, presumably to find a doctor or nurse.

Gabriel comes into the room after him.

“I’m not sure what Dean managed to tell you or what you remembered,” he says softly. “Hunting party, didn’t know you were there, apparently had a few shots too many or something and accidentally got you instead of a deer. Their licences were all good and they had wilderness first aid certifications for some reason and managed to keep you together. This is all we know from Benny though, who got the call. You’ve been under for about fifteen hours. I’ve got a hotel room around the block and caught some sleep but Dean’s been here the whole time. That’s not surprising, really, but- he’s been so worried.”

Castiel takes a long, deep breath. “Do they know about my history?” He asks. “With- with drugs?”

Gabriel’s eyes go watery and then big, and then his face goes a little pale.

“They can’t give me morphine or you know- they can’t. They can’t give me opiates. They can’t- Gabriel- I’m on fire but you can’t tell Dean and you can’t let them- please.”

And Gabriel nods. “When Dean’s back, I’ll talk to the nurse.”

Castiel lets his eyes drift closed for a moment, tries not let the pain press into him, bleed into him.

There’s an ocean, and he has to make it to the other side of the shore.

He wishes Dean would come back.  
  


 


	4. Chapter 4

Castiel wakes up, suddenly. At one moment he’s sleeping and at another, his eyes are open. They have fluttered open like the parting of a moth’s wings, at a moment’s notice. Dean swears he can hear the rustle of his eyelashes against each other.

His eyes are so blue and so bright and so clear when he opens them fully, and it makes Dean’s heart skip the barest, faintest beat.

He knows he spoke to him. He knows Castiel spoke back. He knows he’s out here in the hall, trying to say something to the nurse, something about him being awake, him being thirsty- he’s thirsty, can he have some water? Some food? How can Dean help him? How can Dean heal him? Help make him better? How?

And the nurses and the doctors come back into the room and they start talking to Castiel, about what happened and what’s wrong and how to take care of the stitches. Gabriel’s talking to someone else in the hall and Dean’s trying to pay attention, god he’s trying but he’s heard all of it before, over and over again.

God, he’s so tired and he wants to go home, to their safe nest where he can take care of Castiel himself. Change his bandages, help him with his IV, feed him a good meal. He’s hurt. Dean knows there’s things that the hospital can give Castiel that Dean can’t give him, he knows this. But it still aches to have him here, not in the nest. Not in the home.

Castiel is pale, and sweating, but he’s awake.

“So,” Doctor Robinson says, “Any other questions?”

“Home,” Dean asks. He can force his voice out of his throat just enough to ask it. “When can he come home?”

“We need to keep him here for at least until tomorrow morning. I understand you have a local physician who is well trained and has handled these kinds of incidents before, but it’s a long drive to and from and I don’t want you guys getting halfway up the peninsula and him start having problems. His broken ribs means he’s going to feel short of breath and the stitches are going to be delicate. He’s going to need a lot of help and I want to make sure he has professional observation,” she answers. “He can have water and simple food, the nurses will set him up.”

Dean nods, several times. On the bed, Castiel shifts a little.

Dean looks over at him. Dean clears his throat. “Thank you,” he manages to say.

Doctor Robinson smiles. Gabriel comes back in the room and speaks with her a bit.

And Dean turns back to Castiel who is still sweating and pale, who still looks weak and hurt and small. Dean places his hand in Castiel’s and he holds it.

Castiel turns to Dean, looks at him with his soft, bright eyes.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Castiel says. “You know that, right?”  
Dean leans forward, holds his hand up so that he can kiss his husband’s knuckles.

Castiel clutches his hand, grip firm.

 

* * *

Dean’s getting Gatorade. A weird flavor, one Gabriel helped him invent. Gabriel was in the bathroom when Castiel asked, so of course Dean went.

The pain is getting worse. Whatever it was that had him under, its worn off fully and Castiel is awake and aware and Gabriel can tell by the way he’s sweating and shaking, the way his fingers are digging into the sides of his bed, knuckles and fingers turning white from the strain.

“Gabriel,” he says. “Gabriel, please- keep Dean out of here. Don’t let him- get him out of this place, please.” Castiel’s voice is broken and shaking. It’s a hoarse moan, wiggling from a hush to a loud and terrible cry.  “Please, don’t let him see me like this. Please, Gabriel- please.”

It is at once so much like and so different from the shaking, pained zombie that his brother was years ago, at the funeral.

Gabriel leans over the bed, looks at his brother. “I promise,” he says. “I swear to you.”

Castiel manages to look slightly relieved for the barest moment before he closes his eyes tight and grits his teeth.

Dean’s going to hate this.


	5. Chapter 5

Dean comes back from the commissary with a bottle of purple Gatorade for Castiel - hopefully the right kind- and some donuts for Gabriel when he runs into Gabriel in the hallway.

Gabriel looks tired and worn, but there’s a terrible seriousness to his face that makes Dean’s blood run cold.

“Is he _okay_?” Dean asks softly.

“Remember that thing,” Gabriel asks, “I told you about before you met Castiel? About the- the drugs?”

Dean feels terrible nausea.

“He doesn’t want painkillers,” Gabriel says, solemnly. “They’ve got- they’ve got some stuff in him but nothing serious enough to really- really help. He’s not doing great and he’s worried it’s going to get worse.”

Dean sits down on a chair outside of the door. He holds his head in his hands, trying to proces the informaiton.

“He asked me- he told me that he doesn’t want you to see him like this,” Gabriel says, and at that Dean stands up, feeling agressive. Territorial.

“He’s hurt,” Gabriel says, moving forward and placing his hands on his shoulders. “He’s hurt and he’s not all together, he’s not- he’s not of his mind, Dean. I haven’t seen him like this since- since the funeral, since he was going through rehab. He’s hurting, Dean, and it’s not pretty.”  
“He’s my _husband_ ,” Dean says. “He’s my _mate_!” He screams this, feeling the sound in his body.

“And he wants to protect you, Dean!” Gabriel cries. “ _Goddamnit_ , he thinks you’ve hurt enough, don’t _you_ think you’ve hurt enough! Let him _protect_ you!”

“I’m not going to let him be alone,” Dean says, his voice tense, threatening to be broken and silenced.

He hears a cry from the room, just on the other side of the door, and Dean drops everything, the distraction he knows now. He opens the door and rushes in, where Castiel’s eyes are close and his skin is so pale that it has blended into the sea of sheets.

“Get the nurse,” Dean calls to Gabriel.

The smell is terrible in this room. It’s swimming and sick and dizzying. It smells rotten, like something is falling apart, like it has died and is dissolving. Sweat mingles with it, not like the clean salt smell of Castiel usually, but a kind of biological thinfulness.

“Dean, no,” Castiel whimpers. He whimpers. “Dean- please- go.”

“I’m not going to let you do this alone,” Dean answers. “I’m not going to let you hurt like this alone.”

He takes Castiel’s hand and holds it, Castiel’s fingers curling through his in a crushing grip. The skin is beginning to turn white there, bloodless.

Dean holds his hand, and he looks out of the room and watches Gabriel talk to the nurse.

“I’m here,” Dean says, softly. “And this is going to end. It’s not going to hurt forever, I promise. Gabriel’s talking to the nurse, I swear. I’m here. I’m here with you and I’m not going anywhere.”

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

He’s running.

He’s running a race, he’s always been running, he’s running from something, he’s running.

That’s the only thing that can explain is aching feeling all through his body. He’s running.

No, maybe he’s swimming. Everything is burning, the way he feels when he’s been under for too long and he’s body is panicking through the sensation of not having quite enough air.  That’s the ache, that’s the bruising feeling of not enough air, that explains that damp, wet feeling through his body, sweating and disgusting.

He’s swimming and he’s drowning. He’s not trusting his body to float, he’s fighting it. No, wait he’s- he’s tangled in something. He’s tangled, he’s trapped. He can’t fight it, he’s tangled, he’s trapped.

He’s not breathing.

He can’t breathe.

He’s drowning, and that’s why he’s on fire.

* * *

 

Dean’s holding Castiel’s hand and he’s trying to talk to him. He’s trying his hardest, but the words are caught inside of him. Despite the fact that he’s trying to summon them with all his might, he can’t find them. He can only hold his hand.

The nurses can’t sedate him further. They’re worried about what’s leftover from surgery affecting his system, especially with his history.

They’re worried about Castiel healing wrong, experiencing longterm damage because of his history.

He was lucky it didn’t hurt arteries. He’s lucky he didn’t need a lung transplant. So much has already gone wrong, but he’s also so lucky.

Castiel’s not there. He’s deep under, caught inside of this nightmare of shifting and shaking pain.

Pain is another country. It’s an internal, forever place, where time is expanded outward, bloated and gluttinous. Castiel is trapped in the devouring maw of the pain, chewing on him, grinding him. Destroying him.

Dean remembers pain, the desert of it. He remembers the feeling on his face and he remembers the tearing of the brand healing. He remembers  _remembering._  

Dean knows pain.

Pain is another country and Castiel is trapped there.

His voice is hoarse when he moans. When he shrieks. The sound is utterly helpless.

The sound is trapped.

Dean feels a strange thankfulness that this kind of suffering doesn’t have to be chained to their house. Not to their bed, to their room, to their house. The suffering is just chained to this transient, unknown space. The hospital isn’t anyone’s home. It’s nowhere. They're not going to lie in this bed again, they're not going to rise here and see the pack, they're not going to have sex here. The only memory this space is forced to have is the suffering, and they're not going to have to chase the smell of this agony out of the house from every corner and room. 

It’s five in the morning. There’s not yet any prayer of sunshine. No whisper of daylight.

They have been here barely a day, and already Dean misses  _home_ so acutely. And he misses his husband.

Time refuses to slip forward, to pull Castiel out of the grasp of agony.

Dean waits for his husband to come back.

* * *

He’s drowning.

He can’t breathe.

He knows, now, that there’s a hole in him that is letting the water into him.

There’s a hole in his chest and it’s letting the water in.

He’s frozen.

He’s drowning.

He’s running.


	7. Chapter 7

Dean’s not sure when Castiel passes out, and he’s not sure when he falls asleep either, but he’s waking up at around two in the afternoon to Anna’s firm fingers pressing him awake.

He sits up in the chair and blinks awake, seeing Castiel is still asleep.

“They gave him a mild sedative a few hours ago, something to just put him all the way under,” she murmurs. “I wanted to come up to keep an eye on him as the only family member with meaningful medical experience.” Dean can hear the frustration in her voice, the irritation. “Esther’s with Charlie and Gilda; they’re probably eating cookie dough for dinner or something.”

Dean shifts upward, sits up. Castiel sighs on the bed, huffs just barely. His brow creases.

Dean looks at him, so full of worry. A total fear.

“I’ve talked to the nurses and the doctors,” she says, “so we can get him home. I’m mostly worried about the drive, to be honest. When he wakes up, we’re going to re-asses.”

She turns toward Dean, looks at him for a long, careful time. “Go take a shower,” she says. “Gabriel’s got a hotel room just around the block. Go find him and get the key and go shower. Get a few hours of sleep or something. Get something else to eat.”

Dean shakes his head. He grits his teeth and shakes his head, back and forth a few times. He holds Castiel’s hand.

He can’t leave. What if he wakes up- what if he wakes up and he’s alone.

“You need to go take care of yourself,” Anna says, her voice stern. “I get that you’re freaked out. I get that this is scary. But if you’re not taking care of yourself, you’re not taking care of him. I don’t need you getting sick and leaving us with two hurt people, okay?”

Dean looks up at her.

“I swear to god, we’re not going anywhere,” Anna murmurs. “Go take care of yourself. Let me take my shift.”

Reluctantly, slowly, Dean releases Castiel’s hand and stands up and walks, on shaking legs, out of the room and to find Gabriel.

* * *

Gabriel runs into Dean, gives him the key and directions to the hotel. It’s a little chain spot, for people spending too much time in places like this. He’s glad Anna talked some sense into him; he didn’t really sleep last night, not at all. Gabriel can’t blame him for this kind of worry, but he has to be safe.

Gabriel walks into the hospital room, where Castiel is still sleeping and Anna is reading over paperwork furiously.

“It could have been so bad,” she says. “He’s lucky. It could have been so much worse.”

She looks up, at Gabriel. “I can’t believe you let him- I can’t believe he didn’t take any meaningful pain medication.” Her voice is rough and furious.

“It was his choice,” Gabriel answers. “And I had to respect that. He didn’t make it easily. And he didn’t want Dean here either, Dean insisted. There was a whole fight.”

“That’s going to scar both of them,” she murmurs. “Scent comfort would help but Dean’s so stressed, it’s going to put them in a feedback loop and if we’re not careful it’ll slow healing.”

Castiel stirs on the bed and Anna turns and looks at him.

“Is there something in your car, like a sweater or something? Something of Dean’s?” She asks.

“I’ll go check,” Gabriel answers. “Good thinking.”

“We’re not going to get out of here today,” she answers. “I want him with better monitoring for another day. With the money Dean’s been putting into pack funds, we can afford to take the loss.”

“Dean wants him out as soon as possible,” Gabriel says.

“Of course he does,” Anna answers. “I do too, but I don’t want him out of an observed environment yet.”

Gabriel sits down in one of the chairs and sighs heavily. “I’m glad you’re here,” he says.

“I know,” Anna replies. “Go make sure Dean is taking care of himself. I’m here.”

 


	8. Chapter 8

When Dean comes back to the room, Castiel is still asleep.

He took a shower and grabbed a sandwich from a coffee shop around the corner. He takes a few bites of it, but he doesn’t really manage to taste them. He doesn’t feel any better or any worse than he did before he left. He just feels empty, loose and scared. Unsure.

He wishes that maybe he’d stopped Castiel at the door that morning, for just a moment or two. He wishes that he’d kept him in bed, all the morning long. He wishes that there hadn’t been hunters, at all, in the wood. He wishes that they’d been in Castiel’s small little cabin, by the lake. He wishes so many things.

Anna is standing at the corner of the room, on the room phone, speaking softly to someone, possibly Gabriel, who Dean left in the hotel room to take a nap. Her voice is hushed and the lights are dim in the room.

Castiel looks sweatier and paler and more unreal with each passing hour. It’s not that Castiel always looks clean, it’s that for so much of him being awake and alive and around, he’s active. He’s smiling and laughing or watching, his blue eyes intense and sharp.

Dean’s not used to Castiel seeming so _passive_. He barely even looks like he’s breathing.

Anna gets off the phone and turns to Castiel. Her long red hair was tossed up into a ponytail hours ago, and the hair is beginning to go stray at the temples, a few strands loose here and there.

“He woke up about twenty minutes ago,” she says. “He wasn’t lucid. Asked to see Dad. You didn’t miss much.”

Dean feels his heart sink, immeasurably, that Castiel woke and he wasn’t here to care for him, to make sure he was just  _okay_.

“It’s okay, Dean,” Anna says. “You’re human.”

Dean sits down, next to the bed, and slips his hand into Castiel’s. Castiel’s fingers tighten around his, a little bit.

“He’s not good at this either, for the record,” Anna comments. “Your heat- he doesn’t like it when you go under. Makes him anxious, for days. He doesn’t eat, barely sleeps. Just waits. This doesn’t make you weak or less. Cas does this too.”

“I can’t make him stop hurting,” Dean mutters. “I can’t.”

Anna sighs. She stands pats him on the shoulder a few times. “His decision was complicated and...ugly. But it was his. And I respect that. That doesn’t make this any less difficult for you. But it’s like this, right now, because this was how he decided it had to be.”

She kisses him, on the top of his head. The action is so familial and warm. Anna’s not his sister by blood, but she’s part of his family. So caring and intense. Compassionate.

Dean’s so glad she’s here.

“I’m going to talk to the doctor,” she says. “They haven’t bumped the sedative in a good long time and if he’s sleeping without it, it means that the pain’s not waking him, which is good. Means we might be able to go home sooner. Stay here.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Dean answers.


	9. Chapter 9

“They gave him a boost for the ride home,” Anna says. “Just something to make sure he’ll be asleep the whole way there. He’s going to need to be in the front, reclined as far back as we can get him, but if you want to take the other passenger seat in the back, Gabriel can drive back on his own.”

Dean nods, seriously.

Castiel’s eyes are open- he’s conscious but not terribly lucid and certainly not speaking. They’ve moved him from the bed into a wheelchair and some sweatpants and a robe. The doctors advised not to raise his arms above his head while he’s healing, to prevent tearing his stitches and reopening the wound, which means the robe is just draped over his shoulders, not even tied closed or with his arms threaded through.

They wheel him from his room to the car, outside at the loading area. They put him in the front, seat reclined all the way back. Dean slides into the back seat and Anna climbs into the driver’s side.

Dean is so glad to be heading back home, to their bedroom, to their house. He’s so glad Castiel is out of the hospital and beginning to be out of the woods. He still needs to heal, but he’s no longer locked out of his own mind with pain.

He spends the whole drive watching Castiel, his face a little more pale and thin and wan than it was before all of this happened.

* * *

 

When they get back to the house, Gabriel’s there already with Ellen, who has an array of medical equipment with her. “Let’s get him in the house,” she says. “We set up the guest bedroom downstairs, with the larger bed. I don’t want to try to pull him up there and then try to pull him down and it be a whole nightmare.”

Dean lets Castiel lean heavily against him and they move slowly, carefully, into the house.

They lay him down in a guest bedroom, the bed creaking slowly under his body. Castiel sighs, heavily.

“It’s good to be home,” he murmurs. First thing he’s said in hours.

“Either me or Anna- one of us- is going to be here until you’re most of the way healed,” Ellen says, easing him into the sheets. “We’ve got some of the equipment from the clinic here. Some of it was already here for when Dean’s heats come, but we’ve got you well supplied and emergency services in town know the quickest route up to the house in case something happens and we need to get you to more urgent care, okay?”

Castiel nods, exhausted. “Hurts still,” he murmurs. “Less though.”

“Are you thirsty? Hungry?” Dean asks. “Do you need anything?”

Castiel shakes his head. “I should probably drink some water, though,” he answers. “And I’m tired.”

“What they gave you at the hospital is probably still in effect,” Ellen answers. “And it’s going to take some time for you to be back at a hundred percent. Be gentle with yourself. I’ll get you some water.”

Dean sits down on the bed, next to Castiel.

“Please,” Castiel says softly. “Come closer.”

Dean lays down on the bed, close to him, curled up to his side. The feeling is safe and close and important.

“I’m so glad you’re home,” Dean says. “I was so scared.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Dearest,” Castiel answers.

It’s November ninth.

Castiel’s home.

It will be okay.

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

Castiel wakes up in the morning, his hand drifting to the bandages over his chest.

It still aches. Doesn’t like it when he moves, doesn’t like when he shifts, doesn’t even like it much when he breathes. God help him if he wants to cough. There’s a stiff dose of ibuprofen in his system, keeping fever away and helping inflammation, but there’s nothing serious enough to help with the pain. And the pain has lessened since he left the hospital, particularly since Dean’s stress has notably decreased since they’ve come home and Castiel can smell the cool, happy smell of him without the agony of stress.

“You’re healing,” Dean whispers to him every once in a while. “Take it easy, okay?” His voice is soft, rough again. The rarity and sparseness in his wording has returned.   
He’s already waking up hours later than he’s supposed to, taking a nap in the afternoon, going to bed early in the evening. It feels like all he does is sleep, instead of getting back into the woods. It’s autumn. There’s so much to do- the woods to care for, the lakes to care for, the people in town.

Dean’s had Castiel more active, more engaged in the town as of late. Castiel goes to the library and talks to people a little bit. They go to the diner and eat with other people in town. Castiel even comes by Dean’s classes with the children in his studio every few days or so, even stays to talk with their parents once a week or so. Dean made him realize the ways he needs the community here, happy to see them and speak to them. Castiel’s still uncomfortable with the way they ask him to be the head, uncomfortable with the advice they ask him for- christenings and weddings and to act as a consistent moral figurehead. Castiel’s still uncomfortable with the ways they ask him to be his father.

He’s still glad to be back in the community though, to be seeing them and talking to them. And now he’s laid up, in bed, isolated and broken.

Dean walks into the room. He’s been cooking something, which doesn’t surprise Castiel much. Dean learned how to stress bake from his brother, and his instincts rival Gabriel’s at this point, and with either Anna or Ellen staying with them all the time, there’s another mouth to feed, contributing to that raw instinct to provide. The smell of whatever it is drifts into the room from the kitchen- a roasted chicken, Castiel suspects. Dean raises his eyebrows, equally of concern and questioning.

“I’m fine,” Castiel huffs. “Just sore.”

Dean nods. He leaves the door open on his way out, so Castiel can hear him clatter and move around the house. He’s got pots to wash and then when he’s done with that, Castiel has no doubt he’ll turn a record on and work on his art. He’s not teaching, while Castiel is healing, which means he’s working on projects when he’s not laying in bed with Castiel or helping him get up to pee or sit in the living room or cooking.

Castiel’s just so useless.

He’s been out of the hospital for two days now. Recovery is slow. Healing is slow.

Dean comes back in the bedroom and sits down on the bed next to Castiel. He leans on his shoulder, laying his head alongside Castiel’s.

“I hate being still,” Castiel murmurs. “When I was coming out of rehab, I was moving, all the time. Being still doesn’t feel like getting better.”

Dean nods.

“I need you to get better for me,” Dean says. “I know waiting is hard, but you’re healing. You’re getting better.”

“I know,” Castiel answers. “I’m going to get better. It’s just hard.” He pauses. “Who else is here?” He asks.

Dean shakes his head. “Anna and Ellen are in town- getting showers and supplies. They’ll be back in the evening.”

“When was the last time these were changed?” Castiel asks, patting the edge of the bandages.

“This morning,” Dean answers. “You were pretty out of it.”

“Fuck,” Castiel murmurs. “Things get fuzzy sometimes,”

Dean nods, understanding.

Castiel’s scars will be easy to hide, unlike Dean’s, which are the definition of public.

Castiel reaches across himself, tilts Dean’s head upward by the chin, and leans forward to kiss him.

“I was so scared,” Castiel says, “when it happened that I wouldn’t see you again.”

Dean watches Castiel with his deep, green eyes. The very color of brightness, of life. Vivid.

“I love you,” Castiel says. “I’m so happy you’re here. I’m so happy I’m here with you.”

Dean’s eyes flutter closed for just a moment, something like a moment of reprieve. A rest.

“You need anything?” Dean asks, when he opens his eyes again.

Castiel shakes his head. “Water would be a good idea,” he replies.

Dean sits there for a few minutes before he kisses Castiel’s cheek softly and gets up.

Castiel hears the faucet run for just a moment, and he can’t help but smile.

 


	11. Chapter 11

The bandages are smaller, a week later. Dean can track they way Castiel heals by how his bandages simultaneously shrink under the close watch of Anna and Ellen. He’s no longer on saline and the two of them have decided that the don’t need more assistance from Anna and Ellen, at least for now.

Dean can see his bruises, though, clear and huge over his ribs and chest, and it makes him ache. But he’s also healed enough to be out of the bed and around the house. Dean’s not going to let him go hiking on his own until he’s fully healed, and even then, Dean’s not going to let him out without Benny nearby to keep an eye on him for a while now.

Still, though, Dean figures he can only keep him in for so long.

He’s at the kitchen table, cookbooks laid in front of him, planning, before Castiel comes in and place his hands on his shoulders, sliding forward to hold him loosely.

“We need to go to the store,” Castiel says. “You wanna go today?”

Dean looks up at him. Raises an eyebrow.

“Baby, it’s been three weeks,” Castiel says. “And I was asleep for the last time I was out of the house. I wanna get out and it’s not far and we can swing by the diner.”

Dean sighs. He smiles. “Okay,” he says, softly. Okay.”

Castiel kisses the top of his head. “I’ll get dressed. Meet you in the car in ten?”

* * *

 

It’s so good to be driving. It’s so good to just be outside, to be out of the house. They’ve got the radio on softly and Dean’s looking over a grocery list and the road into town is more or less empty, but it’s so good to be out. Once they get to the town square, they start seeing people again. Castiel feels like a dog on a day out, thrilled to see them again.

He parks in front of the diner, a few blocks walk to the store. It’ll be exhausting- a bit of exercise- but it’ll be good for him to move. To stretch his legs.

He climbs out of the car, keeping his breathing even. The November rain has finally come through, and although it’s harder to breathe through dry air, the cold is going to make him want to cough. Dean comes around to his side and takes his hand, holding it.

Castiel gets why he’s feeling protective.

He looks at him. Stern eyes. Hands him the grocery list with the kind of glare that speaks- _If you lose this, I will never speak to you again_.

Castiel nods.

They walk, evenly, to the store.

Cain’s place is pretty small. A local spot. It’s hard to get a lot of stuff on this side of the state, along the peninsula, but there are produce growers that have apples and hazelnuts and root vegetables and cranberries. Fish is pretty easy to find and a few counties over, there’s an independent family that has a ranch with sheep and cows- they can get fresh butter and cheese through them as well as meat. There’s also meat and dairy from larger, non-local farms, but Dean prefers the fresher, closer stuff. It’s decorated, less than a week before Thanksgiving now and autumn leaves made of laminated paper intermingle with pilgrims and turkeys. There’s hand-turkeys, a gift from the school, Castiel knows. They grab a cart, and they walk, up and down the store, pulling boxes and bags off the shelves, packages and produce.

Every few minutes or so, someone will approach them, have a little conversation. A pup will grab around Dean’s leg and hang on, close and tight. Dean will even pick the small ones up, happy to toss them in the air and catch them.

At the check-out line, they’re tended to by a guy named Garth with shaggy hair and a thin, boney frame.

“Alpha,” he greets. “Glad to see you up and about.”

“Please,” Castiel murmurs. “Call me Castiel. I have a name.”

Garth smiles. “Sorry,” he murmurs. “I’ve only been to meetings-I don’t have a lot of time to meet face to face and I know you and your mate probably want privacy, especially right now after you were you know...shot.”

Dean snorts next to him, and Castiel works to repress a smile.

“We appreciate it,” he says. “Are you new to the community?”

He pulls out a laminated sheet to look up the acorn squash.

“I moved about six months ago,” he says. “I like the ocean- I surf, actually, and make puppets.”

Castiel can see Dean repressing more laughter.

Dean leaves Castiel in the parking lot while he runs to get the car once they’ve paid and extricated themselves from the baffling conversation. And he waits there, in the cool November air, greeting people and talking and being just, generally, happy to be alive. To be here.

* * *

 

They get home that evening, well after the sun has set. Castiel goes more or less immediately from the car to the couch,  completely exhausted.

Dean brings in the groceries, putting them away as he goes.

It was a good day. It was good to see people again, to see town and Gabriel and Anna outside of the house. It was good to get food and ingredients for Thanksgiving dinner. Hell, it was even good to meet Garth. It was good. Today was a good day.

Dean’s putting the produce away when the phone rings.

Dean picks it up. “Hello?” he murmurs.

It’s been a good day.

“Dean?” Sam asks. “Dean- I know there’s a lot going on but- Dean- Jess is pregnant.”

Dean feels the breath kicked out of him.

"Dean?" Sam says on the other end of the line. "Dean, we don't know what to do- I love her, I love her so much but we're not ready. We want to go to school and college and Jess- Jess wants to be a doctor and we- we don't know what to do."

Dean takes a deep breath, tries to find his voice.

"I know you have your own problems," Sam says, quietly, on the other end. "But I didn't know who else to call. We don't want to abort but we're not…we're not ready, Dean."

"What does Jess want?" Dean asks, finding his voice finally, even it feels cracked and strange.

"To go to school, to be a doctor. She doesn't want to- she doesn't want to be a mom yet but she doesn't want to abort, she said she didn't feel right about it and that's okay but Dean we just- we can't be parents yet." Sam sighs. “She’s on the pill and even then I always use a condom but I guess something went wrong maybe we put it on wrong or- I just- I guess it was just- Dean I’m so scared.”

“How long?” Dean asks.

“We found out tonight- she can’t be more than a week or two- she was late and then she threw up so we just- we checked. We haven’t even told her parents yet.”

"You need to come up," Dean says. "You and Jess. You can stay with Castiel and I and we'll figure this out- you're my brother and Jess is- Jess is important to you and that means you have pack rights and you can come up and we'll- we'll figure it out. I can buy you plane tickets; I've got the money from my studio and- it's okay, Sammy, we'll figure it out."

Sam exhales for a long, long moment before he says, "Okay, Dean."

Dean hangs up.

Sits in the kitchen with his head in his hands.

It was such a good day.

  
  



End file.
